


Giving Up (Is Hard To Do)

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, character death (but it doesn't take)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: There's nothing left for Sam to do but this. Despite the parting, he still calls. And despite the parting, Dean still races to get to him.Warning for suicide attempts but none successful.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 244





	Giving Up (Is Hard To Do)

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from LiveJournal September 2009.

Just when he'd thought he couldn't get any lower, Sam found out that his idea of rock bottom had been a lofty height.  
  
Lucifer's vessel. The perfect bookend to Dean's Michael except it was _Lucifer_ , and Sam had to keep from throwing up. Again.  
  
There was a terrible thought in his mind that even though he swore he'd never give consent, he swore he'd never let Lucifer in, somehow he'd wind up doing it anyways. God knew he'd desperately tried to not turn, tried not to be the demonic freak he'd feared he was.  
  
Look how that one had turned out.  
  
The bed was soft and hard underneath him, the edge feeling like a bar of steel he could easily fall off of. The crawling feeling that someone was behind him finally made him turn back and look, but Jess wasn't there. And that pain was still deep in his heart, because god help him, he'd taken one look into her eyes and fallen head over heels again. If he asked, Lucifer would probably even give her back, and Sam had to clasp his hand over his mouth.  
  
This was why he had to do it. This was why he had to do it and fast. He'd almost gotten Lindsey killed. Another innocent life would've been on his hands, and he couldn't do it anymore. Wouldn't do it anymore.  
  
Before he could, though, he had to make a call.  
  
The cell phone felt warm in his hands. The list of names was long, but there were only two that were still contacts he needed. Bobby was one, and Dean was the other. His emergency dial number one, ICE, Dean.  
  
Except he didn't really call Dean anymore either, not when his brother had swiftly agreed with him when Sam had offered to go. It had been an offer, and Dean had snagged the opportunity to be alone. No calls from him since, but he was doing fine from what Bobby said. Perfectly fine without Sam.  
  
He still owed it to Dean to call. It wasn't like whoever found him wasn't going to hit speed dial one and get Dean that way, but with all of his ID cards burned...well. It would possibly put Dean in a position of trouble, and Sam had caused enough of that lately.  
  
So a phone call it was. His hands shook as he pressed one, and it finally worked on the third attempt. He raised the phone to his ear and waited, stomach tight. A part of him wanted to talk to Dean, wanted to hear his brother's voice for one last time.  
  
When it went to voice mail, though, the disappointment was drowned out with relief. This was easier.  
  
  
  
The bar was loud but Dean didn't care. He didn't care if it was loud or quiet, really. He hadn't stopped to get the sound of quiet and emptiness out of his head; he'd only wanted a drink. That was it.  
  
He took a long gulp of whatever the “hard stuff” had wound up being to shut down the denial some part of him would make. It burned and damn near made his eyes water, but that was okay. More than okay and welcome. Wasn't like he'd been able to finish his other drink from the night with Castiel, and it still made his lips twitch when he thought about it. God, the look on his face had been _priceless_ , and running from the security while Castiel had looked so confused had been nothing short of awesome. When he told Sam he knew his brother would look appalled that Dean had taken an angel to a _brothel_ but then he would've started grinning-  
  
Sam. And that was enough to take the smile from his own face.  
  
He'd been right when he'd told Castiel that he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed that hard, but his immediate thought afterward had been, _I can't wait to tell Sam_ and that had killed any high from only a few moments before. His first thought still was to talk to Sam, and it killed him that he couldn't really do it.  
  
The kid had asked for space. He'd been surprised by Dean's giving in so easily but Dean hadn't wanted to make it any harder for either of them. He'd offered the Impala, but Sam had declined. Just taken his stuff and left with a stranger in a truck, and Dean was still trying to believe it'd been a mutual choice and decision.  
  
But the truth of it was that Dean was tired. Apocalypse, angels, demons, being an angel's vessel...and then Sam. The albatross around his neck, and it was a terrible thing to think except between everything else, it was true. And Dean just needed a break.  
  
Except now he wasn't sure how to stop the break, get back to how things were going. Would Sam even want to come back? For all Dean knew, his brother could've gone back to California, and the realization that he had no clue where his brother was disturbed him.  
  
He dug out his cell phone, then stopped, listening to the raucous laughter from across the room. Yeah, outside call. He slid off the barstool and headed outside, well away from the doors. He pulled the phone back out again and found he'd missed a call and had a voice mail. The screen said _Sam_ , and Dean couldn't help the small grin of relief. Guess Sam had had the same idea. He dialed for the voice mail and listened, absently digging his keys out of his pocket.  
  
Silence met him at first, and he frowned, pulling the phone away to check and see if it had really dialed. But the voice mail said it was playing, so he listened again. Still silence. What the hell-  
  
There. A sound. It sounded like a quivering breath, and Dean wasn't grinning anymore. He'd been hoping for a location, of Sam saying, “Hey, I'm done with the break; come pick me up?” Not silence. Not...not this.  
  
Finally, Sam's voice came through. “Hey Dean. It's, uh, me,” and the sound of Sam clearing his throat came in. When he spoke next, his voice still sounded rough and hollow. “Listen, I...I...”  
  
More silence. Dean was frozen, couldn't have moved if someone had shoved him hard. His keys hung in his fingers, the bar was still noisy with music and voices behind him, but the only thing he felt and heard was the cell phone in his hand.  
  
Sam laughed wetly, and if anything, he sounded more empty then before. “God. I don't even know how to tell you this, and I've been trying to do it for hours, and I've got nothing. Really and truly. So I'll just say it.” Another pause, and Sam's voice was lower. “I'm Lucifer's vessel.”  
  
The emotional punch to his gut was enough to make Dean physically sway backwards. Oh god. How had he found out? What, he'd looked it up somewhere, or...no. Lucifer had found him, somehow, even with the bone tattoos, and the hard stuff threatened to rise for a second taste.  
  
“He...he found me, but he didn't, exactly. Wasn't really here. At least, I don't think so. Maybe he was. But he showed up as...as Jess,” and the heartache in Sam's voice made Dean shut his eyes tight. _God_. “He's an angel, though. He needs my consent to take over. I told him no, obviously.”  
  
Another pause, and when he spoke again, Sam was barely above a whisper. “Maybe it's not so obvious, though. I don't know anymore. But I told him no. And I'm...”  
  
Dean didn't realize his eyes were open until they started to burn when he didn't blink. “God I'm so scared, Dean,” Sam confessed. “If the past few months are any indication, I'll probably say yes to him sometime because it's, it's what I do. Isn't it? I mean, when the other hunters showed up and told me to drink the demon blood, I wanted to so badly, but I didn't, and when it got shoved down my throat I spit it back out, but...it's not enough. Not enough to stop...me.”  
  
And even as Dean reeled at the words, and demon blood, other hunters, and the surge of anger that they'd tried to force Sam to take it, Sam continued, voice hollow and near dead. “So I'm doing it. What I should've done years ago. What I've been wanting to do since you died, since you made that deal, since, god, Dad died and Jess died. I should've done it then. Lucifer told me he won't let me, but I'd rather die than be his vessel. I meant it.”  
  
The voice mail went silent again. Dean realized absently that his keys were cutting into his hands from his tight grip, but he didn't care, because god, Sam couldn't seriously be saying-  
  
“I'm leaving everything at a post office box in downtown Worthington here, box twenty three, same as my motel room number,” Sam said quietly. “If you want anything. The laptop, obviously. A few charms. My stuff, if you actually wanted any of it. I can't think of why you would. Just toss it if you don't. I, uh, burned all my IDs awhile ago. But you're the number one speed dial on my phone, so whoever finds me will notify you. Without the IDs though, I figured I'd just cause you trouble when they called. More trouble,” he added on an exhale, and Dean finally started moving, fingers still clutching the phone, opening the door with the other hand. Oh god, when the hell had Sam called? He had to end the voice mail to see the time of the missed call, had to hang up to drive, had to disconnect to try and call Sam back, but he couldn't. He had to keep listening.  
  
More silence now, and then another shaky inhalation. “I'd hoped to see you again, before...but. I kinda figured it wasn't ever going to happen. You needed me gone, and I understand. Bobby said you were doing okay with Castiel, and I'm glad. He'll make a good partner.”  
  
Dean froze, key in the ignition. No. That wasn't it at all. No no _no_... “Sammy,” Dean breathed, shutting his eyes again. He didn't want Cas, goddammit, he wanted Sam in the passenger seat, and he was never going to be able to fool himself into thinking otherwise.  
  
“So just...take care of yourself, okay? Please. I'm sorry Dean. For everything. I just hope I can make this one last thing right.”  
  
The next thing he heard startled him into moving. “End of voice message,” the annoyed female voice intoned. “To erase this message, press seven.” Yeah, not gonna happen. “To listen to this message again, press two.” Also not gonna happen; Dean's stomach was in knots as it was.  
  
He ended the call and tossed the phone in the passenger seat, aiming the car north and flooring it. It was ten miles out of town that he realized he had no clue where Sam's Worthington was. Or when he'd called.  
  
Dean kept his foot against the floor but reached for the phone. Missed call placed Sam's message a little after eight. It was almost ten now, and Dean couldn't breathe. No. He...oh god _no_. He could be hours away, dead in some motel room, and-  
  
No. Dean had to believe he was alive. He had to. The exhaustion and tiredness from everything had faded to a dull nothing in the background, his adrenaline surging forward and screaming at him to do the one thing he was supposed to do. _Protect Sam. Save Sam. Help Sam._  
  
Instead he'd cut the kid loose. The break he'd wanted? Not all it was cracked up to be, anymore. And god but he'd never _ever_ meant for it be permanent, and somehow Sam had gotten it into his head that it _was_ -  
  
He could try and figure out the GPS but he didn't have a laptop and he didn't have time. Digging out the maps meant pulling over and there was no way in hell he was doing that. He could call Castiel, but Cas wouldn't be able to find Sam. Even though Lucifer somehow had, and Dean couldn't think about that now. Not when he was trying to find Sammy.  
  
Then it flashed. _Bobby said you were doing okay with Castiel._ Bobby.  
  
Speed dial two was hit, and Dean prayed to a deity he wasn't sure existed that Bobby could help him find his speed dial one before it was too late.  
  
  
  
Sam surveyed the room with blank eyes. No way he was getting his deposit back.  
  
There was smoke still drifting from the hair dryer he'd managed to pull away from the wall and drop into the sink full of water. Black singed the wall plug, and there were still black marks across his hands from when he'd plunged them into the water.  
  
That had been the extreme one. The others had been pretty straight forward, but messier. Blood stained the sheets of the bed, the bathroom walls and tiles, the main room's walls and even the ceiling. Razor blade, knife, gun. The fan above was broken from his hanging from it.  
  
Distantly he realized he was shaking, and he tossed the now useless bottle of liquor from his hands. The sleeping pills seemed to laugh at him from their place on the table, next to the bloody knife and gun. There was still a faint powder burn against his temple from where he'd placed the gun, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered.  
  
It was like that string of Tuesdays, except it wasn't Dean dying, it was Sam. And instead of the actual dying, there was none. He'd come close, black out. Expect to see the fires of Hell waiting for him, and then he'd blink and he'd be alive and everything would be fine. Except for the room, obviously. He'd actually put quite a bit into the deposit, too. Shame.  
  
The shaking didn't stop, and the burn of tears made him shut his eyes tight. He'd tried everything, tried drowning himself, electrocuting himself, and god knew he could think of some creative ways to kill a person after watching Dean die over a hundred times.  
  
Lucifer was keeping his word, though. Sam couldn't die. Nothing he did had done a damn bit of good, and the only thing he was thankful for now was that Lucifer hadn't shown up to give him the “I told you so” speech.  
  
The only thing Sam had left was the dramatic finish. He'd have to steal someone's car. Dean had offered him the Impala but Sam had figured it as a half-hearted attempt Dean hadn't wanted to make because seriously, the Impala? Like Dean was ever going to let it go. He hadn't wanted to drop Sam anywhere, but he was just going to give him the car?  
  
But Sam was grateful he hadn't gotten the car, because he figured crashing it and making it explode into flames would really piss Dean off. Sam'd done enough of that lately: no need to keep doing it.  
  
And the whole point of this was to spare Dean from further pain and trouble, to save the world from the mistake that was Sam Winchester, and he couldn't even accomplish that much. He figured the car would do the trick, because it would keep burning, and even if Lucifer brought him back again, Sam would just keep waking up on fire and die all over again.  
  
The sudden sob caught him off guard and he slapped his hand over his mouth to rein in the next one. He stumbled backwards and caught the edge of the counter, staring at the room, paralyzed and terrified. Oh god god _god_. He was going to become Lucifer's vessel because Dean's distrust didn't even come close to how much Sam distrusted himself. He could see the world as it went up in flames before his eyes, and he turned for the door, automatically reaching for his coat as he did so.  
  
He stopped, hand on the object, and let it go. Dead men didn't need clothes. They didn't need cell phones, either, and he glanced at the screen even as he tossed it onto the counter. No calls, and the ache in his chest cut his breathing off for a minute. He'd hoped Dean would call to at least say goodbye, or god, even to tell him he was an idiot for having ripped the last seal off and that he deserved Lucifer taking him over. But the screen stayed stubbornly blank.  
  
He opened the door and walked out. He didn't think anyone could really die from crying too much or from your heart breaking, even if it felt like you could. He sort of wished he could, and then was selfishly glad he couldn't die that way.  
  
He'd just have to go for the car crash and keep his fingers crossed.  
  
  
  
The town wound up being, thankfully, two hours away from Dean instead of across the country. Unfortunately, the fastest way there put him through no cell tower country, which meant he couldn't call Sam; he'd even lost Bobby halfway through their conversation. Fear was curling low in his belly, and he couldn't call Castiel to tell _him_ to call Sam or jump ahead to Worthington and the motel Sam was staying at. It was just him in the way too quiet car with an empty passenger seat he'd helped vacate and...who, God?  
  
He was only ten minutes off now: the signs for the town were already coming up. But it still wasn't fast enough. Even though he knew he had to head directly for the motel room and get inside, a part of him was terrified at the thought of seeing Sam there, dead by his own hand. God, what he wouldn't give for a chance to go back just a few hours and pick up the phone when Sam called, have a chance to talk to him, talk him out of it.  
  
As long as he was wishing, he'd wish to go back and make sure Sam never touched a drop of demon blood, that Sam had never let Lucifer out. Make sure he himself had never listened to an angel, that he'd never let Sam die. Or god, even go back and not let Sam walk away from him at the rest area.  
  
He finally reached the motel Bobby had told him Sam was staying at, and parked haphazardly across a row of empty parking spots. Then he was racing inside, up the stairs, and flying down the hall. Room twenty three. He tried the door knob out of habit and stared in shock when it easily opened. Not even locked. “Sam?” he called even as he walked in.  
  
And stopped. The room was covered in blood from floor to ceiling, splotches thrown here and there. The sheets on the bed were also stained, and his eyes slid to the bloody knife and razor blades on the table. The gun was lined up neatly next to them, and a bottle of pills next to that. The fan was still trying to spin, and something slender and long hung from the center of it. Cord of some type. From off in the bathroom he heard a zapping sound, and he followed it find the complimentary hair dryer still smoking in the filled sink.  
  
“God, _Sammy_ ,” and Dean had to cover his mouth to keep from throwing up. The hard liquor he'd had burned in his esophagus, but he couldn't. Not now.  
  
Because despite all the facts and evidence to the contrary, Sam wasn't dead. He wasn't there. No body.  
  
Dean immediately pulled his cell phone out and dialed Sam, his foot tapping anxiously as he turned and kept surveying the room. Even as it began to ring his eyes caught on the phone on the counter, which dutifully began to light up. Next to it on the counter was a bloody handprint with black streaks in it.  
  
The entire room was a mess, and it all screamed desperation. Dean nearly tripped stepping backwards away from it all, and watched as an empty liquor bottle rolled away from his feet.  
  
He'd worry about Sam's mental state later. Right now, the only thing he wanted was Sam, period. He couldn't help if his little brother was dead. He raced for the door again, grabbing the cell phone before slamming the door behind him, then made his way to the front desk as fast as he could.  
  
The guy behind the counter looked nonplussed at Dean's panting, hurried approach. “Guy up in twenty-three; you seen him?” Dean asked, trying to breathe.  
  
The guy only frowned. Right: visual aid. Dean fumbled for his wallet and dug through for a picture. One of Sam's IDs popped up from behind Dean's, and Dean carefully made sure the information on it was covered by his thumb. “This guy?” he asked, flashing the picture of a slightly smiling Sam.  
  
Eyes widened in recognition. “Yeah; guy up in twenty-three,” he said, and Dean would've rolled his eyes if he hadn't been so rushed and scared. “Yup. Came down here maybe ten, twenty minutes ago. Looked a mess. Asked me for a map of the area.”  
  
“Can I see it?” Dean asked, and thankfully the guy didn't need to be asked as to what Dean wanted to see. He spread the map out over the counter and searched. Where the hell would Sam have gone? Gun store? Liquor store? Bar? Middle of a field? “He ask for anything else?” Dean tried.  
  
Guy raised his eyebrows. “Yeah; said he was geo-caching. Wanted to know if there was a deep cliff near the road. Was his target place. Little odd he wanted to do a cache so late at night, but...”  
  
Oh god. “Where?” Dean asked hoarsely, and the guy pointed it out. Not far out of town. If Sam had really left twenty minutes ago, there was no way Dean was going to catch up with him. “When did he leave? I need an exact. Please,” he added when the guy looked puzzled again.  
  
The guy shrugged. “My show'd just hit its first commercial, and that starts at midnight.”  
  
Almost a quarter after midnight now, and Dean mumbled his thanks even as he ran. He might just make it. He had a chance. He had a chance of catching up to Sam before it was too late.  
  
His tires squealed as he flew out of the parking lot and took off down the highway towards Sam's target. The speed limit was left in the dust, and the car felt a little out of control considering how fast he was going but Dean wasn't slowing down. Not when Sam's life depended on his baby being the fastest she could be.  
  
And he still might not beat Sam to the cliff's edge.  
  
He found himself with burning eyes again, and he angrily wiped them again. Nothing could impair his vision now. He was the only thing that could save Sam now. Calling Castiel to reach Sam would possibly only startle his little brother and send him into one of the trees lining the side of the road. It was just him and his car and the terror in his gut said it wasn't enough. It wasn't going to be enough, and he wasn't going to get there in time. God but he...  
  
Well. There was always that. Even if Dean thought it was a waste of time...he wasn't above trying anything to save Sam.  
  
Even as he floored it through the empty road in the night, Dean found himself gripping the wheel tighter and trying to speak. “...God. I...please. _Please_. I don't even know if you exist anymore after the other night but...if you do. Please. Sammy...”  
  
He swallowed around the tears clogging his throat. “I need him. And if that was you and not Lucifer that saved us that night, you gotta need him too, right? And even if you don't, I do, and you saved my ass. And I need him. I...God I _need_ him. Don't let him die. Please don't let him...”  
  
The tires fought to slide and Dean held on even tighter to keep control. If he wasn't careful he was gonna be the one to crash out here, but he couldn't afford to slow down. Not now. Not when he had a chance.  
  
And not when he could see tail lights just up ahead in the distance, and Dean straightened in his seat. It had to be Sam. Hope flared fast and bright and Dean felt almost dizzy with it.  
  
Then it plummeted when he saw the signs warning for the sharp turn. He was too far off. He honked loud and long, even as he gained, but the car didn't slow down. Sam wasn't stopping and Dean wasn't going to get to him in time and there was absolutely nothing he could do as the cliff came up on the left.  
  
Suddenly a tree swung down from the left and fell straight towards the road. The car up ahead swerved on instinct away from the fallen tree and straight off to the forest on the right, away from the cliff. Dean slammed on his brakes and threw the car in park. Already the other car had stopped, near to hitting one of the other trees. “Sammy!” Dean yelled as he ran, and the adrenaline alone was going to force the hard liquor up and out.  
  
He ran through the grass and down the small incline, nearly tripping over the various roots and stones in his haste to get to the driver's side. One glance inside showed that it was Sam staring out of the front window. There was blood on his forehead, sliding down his face from a fresh cut, and he looked shell-shocked.  
  
Dean knocked on the window, startling Sam into turning. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was damp, and if possible, he looked more stunned than before when he saw Dean. “Sammy, the door,” Dean called.  
  
It took a few tries but Sam finally managed to get his hands to work. As soon as the door was open Dean was reaching in and pulling Sam out. He hadn't even done the seatbelt, and Dean refused to dwell on it. He was alive. Sam was alive and yeah, not okay, but god he was in one piece.  
  
He twisted back towards the fallen tree, staring at it. It was tall but not old looking. Had just...dropped. Right in Sam's path, right in front of the cliff. Even if Sam had hit it, it wouldn't have killed him.  
  
He tucked away the memories from two, three years ago when the term “God's will” had come up before. For now, he needed to get Sam away from the crash. He wrapped his arm around Sam's middle and pulled his shivering brother close. “I got you,” Dean murmured, Sam's head tucked under his chin. He smelled like a smoking gun, and it was Dean's turn to shudder.  
  
“I got you,” he whispered again. Then, “C'mon, Sammy,” and he led his brother back to the Impala.  
  
  
  
  
He was kind of hoping for hypothermia now, at the very least. But no matter how much he shivered, he couldn't get any colder.  
  
And now, every time he shivered, Dean only turned the heat up more or gave Sam a blanket. Or god, Dean's own coat. He wasn't even sure the shivering had anything to do with the cold, but the jacket had still eased the shakes either way.  
  
The entire drive had been a bust. He'd tangled the seat belt up into a mangled knot and taken off. He'd clutched the steering wheel hard enough to leave blisters on his skin, and all he'd seen was the end goal. The cliff, going out in a fiery ball of gasoline and metal. He'd shaken and shuddered, his vision had blurred, and he'd prayed to whoever would listen to please let him die this time.  
  
The tree had come down instead, and if his reaction of immediately diverting away hadn't been bad enough, Dean had shown up. Pulled him out of the wreckage, gotten him back into the Impala that Sam had missed more than he should've. The only home he'd ever had, really. If home was a place and not a feeling or a person.  
  
Dean had already stopped and gotten his stuff from the post office box. Put it in the trunk, where it had always gone, and then back down the road they'd gone. And now...Sam didn't know where they were going, what they were doing, what they were going to do. Dean'd obviously gotten his voice mail, but he had no idea what that meant for them.  
  
He'd come, though. He'd come for Sam. To stop Sam from killing himself, and the small amount of hope Sam had at the thought was immediately swallowed up by the reason he'd tried to off himself in the first place. He was Lucifer's vessel. He was the one who Lucifer would ride in when he decided to burn the world to the ground.  
  
“I refuse to be his vessel,” Sam whispered, breaking the silence. He didn't know why he was talking now. If Dean would listen.  
  
“Okay,” was Dean's instant response. Sam slowly slid his gaze around, blinking through swollen eyelids. Dean glanced over from the road, then turned back. “Then you're not. Which is good, because I'm not about to let him do that to you.”  
  
“I'll screw it up,” Sam managed. “I'll...I'll let him in, somehow. I won't mean to but I will.”  
  
“No-”  
  
“You know I will. I never meant to be the guy who ended the world and I was.”  
  
“Sam-”  
  
“I should've killed myself years ago,” Sam whispered, moving his gaze to the dashboard. God knew he'd thought about it, but Dean had always been there to encourage him not to, to give him a reason to keep going.  
  
“Don't you say that,” Dean said, anger deep and low in his voice. When Sam twisted around again Dean was glaring at him, fear in his eyes. “Don't you _dare_ say that.”  
  
Sam stared at him. “You'd rather that the apocalypse happen then let me die? I'm just the pain in the ass, and-”  
  
“You're the best damn partner a guy could ask for,” Dean cut in. “Okay? And yeah, okay, you screwed up. We both dropped the ball for the past couple of months. So we've gotta both pick it back up. Together.” He paused and Sam held his breath, waiting. “Which means the break's over. It was only supposed to be a break, Sammy. Not a permanent parting.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes and breathed. Or tried to, but his chest felt funny and tight. “What about Lucifer?”  
  
“We'll deal.” No hesitation. “I wanna know how the hell he found you. He's an angel: he's supposed to be repulsed by the rib tats. I also wanna know what the story is behind the hunters and what they tried to do. Names would help,” he added, voice tight with anger. “Names would go a long way.”  
  
Tears burned, exhaustion and the come-down from terror only pushing them forward, but things felt a little more bearable here in the car. The leather seats beneath him, blanket and Dean's jacket buffering him from the rest of the world. Dean sitting in the driver's seat, standing tall and firm and ready to keep Sam from drowning.  
  
A hand on his head only grounded him even more. “I'll see if I can find a hotel. We'll get you cleaned up: you're a little gross, dude.” The light hearted tease sounded forced, and Dean's next words told the real reason why. “I meant it though, Sammy. Don't you dare. Not ever again. God, the room was...”  
  
“I kept trying,” Sam murmured. “He kept bringing me back. He won't...he won't let me die, Dean.”  
  
“Good,” Dean choked out. Sam was pulled in, and he relaxed against Dean's shoulder. “I...good.”  
  
The silence now was comfortable, and Sam honestly thought he could sleep for the first time in days. Since he'd left Dean behind at the rest area.  
  
“Sleep if you can, Sammy. We'll talk later.” Dean still had him pulled close, was still giving him a place to rest and a jacket to keep him warm, and after a moment of jostling, he produced Sam's cell phone from a pocket. Sam didn't need a call: his number one speed dial was right there underneath his chin.  
  
He gave a small noise to let Dean know he'd heard him, and he found himself drifting off into dreams filled with Dean warding Lucifer off.


End file.
